


The Small Symbolic Gestures

by Lalaen



Series: Canon is as Canon Does feat. The Hijinks of 104th Training Division [3]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: M/M, Marking, Stick and poke, Tattoos, Training Days
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-03-05 00:35:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3098438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lalaen/pseuds/Lalaen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All they want to do is leave a mark on one another that will stay. A mark that means something.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Small Symbolic Gestures

**Author's Note:**

> I promise I'm really not necessarily condoning stick and poke tattoos. My tattoos were done in a parlor.

Perched atop the ladder to his and Reiner's bunk, Bertholdt went about the arduous task of peeling off his tight leather boots. After a long day's training his feet and calves were sweaty; and after so much hard use the boots were so well broken in as to be formed to his body. One then the other, he managed to pull them off with relatively little damage to the blisters starting on his heels. He let them clunk carelessly to the floor almost six feet below. No one else was in here right now after all - most people didn't want to spend their little free time cooped up in the barracks. Doubtless few would be surprised that Bertholdt and Reiner were, though more than likely those would think it had something to do with the fraternization they were so often reprimanded for. 

Bertholdt nearly blushed at the thought. Sex was not on the agenda at the moment, and they were nearly out of oil besides. Reiner would have to smuggle more out of the kitchen soon. Having cooking oil shoved up his ass honestly gave Bertholdt the shits, but it was the only thing they could get that didn't burn and spit just wasn't good enough most of the time. Reiner blamed him being a tightass, but admitted that it chafed like hell. 

Bertholdt was jarred out of his introspection by lips on his sensitive nape, his back suddenly going ramrod straight. He knew it was just Reiner, didn't need the reassuring whisper to know that, but his alertness was reflexive. It'd been so honed in that he could not turn it off; hadn't been able to so long as he could remember. Body relaxing again with the very next breath, he went about shimmying the foot loops of his straps over his heels. They were tight; perfectly adjusted to fit him to allow pinpoint accuracy of movement in the air, but as soon as the foot loops were free everything would hang loose below the thigh belts. In a few hours there was going to be a night drill, so it was hardly worth getting out of the whole thing. 

Bertholdt finally crawled properly up on the bed, where Reiner was sitting with one of his pants legs already rolled up to his knee. "Which do you want?" Bertholdt asked, voice quiet despite the fact that they were alone. His partner shrugged, considered a moment and then pointed to the opposite leg. Wordlessly as usual, pants were rolled up to expose most of a long and hairy shin. Bertholdt peeled off his sock with even less thought than he'd given his boots and tossed it to the end of the bunk. The question of position was equally wordless, and after surprisingly little shuffling around they ended up stretched out on their sides; facing each other but with their heads at opposite ends of the bunk.

Bertholdt felt oddly at peace. Outside was coming dusk, the sparse chirring of crickets and other night insects just beginning. Reiner was close to him, and if he concentrated he could hear his partner's breathing. All was right in the world, so far as he was concerned. All of the best moments of his life had been just like this. Still, nearly silent, close enough to Reiner to easily touch and able to hear him drawing breath. 

He was passed a small bottle of writing ink and a sewing needle. The ink they'd taken from the classrooms; the needles they had to mend their clothes. He was left staring down at the inside of Reiner's ankle, trying to choose an exact placement for the mark he'd long considered putting there. As long as he had thought about it, he'd ended up going with one of the first ideas he'd had. He sketched it out in his mind's eye, staring at the pale skin in front of him. 

Bertholdt nearly startled when he felt the first prick - evidently Reiner was jumping in head first. That was so typical that Bertholdt could almost laugh. 

Reiner was an idiot. 

However, the pricking at his own ankle gave him the push that he needed to start himself. Leaning only inches away from his canvas, he began quick but careful pokes with the needle, dipping in ink as he went. It was easy to focus wholly on this simple task, sparing only a corner of his mind to reign in the natural swell of his healing abilities. They'd agreed almost immediately that healing would at best stop this from working, maybe even do something strange to the results. They were more than well practiced at not healing superficial wounds; and these were barely even that. 

The design Bertholdt had chosen for Reiner was an old one, a symbol no longer in use but one that he'd no doubt know the meaning of. It was simple enough for him to draw even with these far from ideal tools on an unfamiliar canvas - a slender heart bisected by a vertical line with a tiny solid diamond in the middle. He was admittedly extremely curious about what small token Reiner had chosen for him, but he wouldn't look until they were both done. This was the exact kind of activity he loved - requiring wholehearted attention but very little thought. He pricked out the barest outline of the design then went back over it until he began to be happy with the solidness of his lines. 

"Done," Reiner grunted, sounding exceptionally pleased with himself. Bertholdt felt him drag a thumb over the tender area, no doubt wiping the excess ink away. He blotted at his own work with his sleeve to get a better look; then answered with a firm nod. He was done too. After a moment's consideration, he bent to press his lips gently to the protruding bone just below where he'd been working. 

"Let's take a look," Reiner said unnecessarily, pushing himself into a sitting position. When he saw his ankle, he raised his pale eyebrows before a tiny secretive smile started to tug at his lips. "Have courage," his voice was slightly gruff with emotion, and that made Bertholdt return the smile. 

"... I thought it was appropri - Reiner." He cut himself off as he looked down at his own mark, unable to prevent the slight flush that rose in his cheeks. His partner chuckled. 

Above the bone of his own ankle was a tiny and slightly wobbly crown. 

"My Prince," Reiner said in a soft and still slightly husky voice, leaning in so close that his lips almost touched Bertholdt's ear. The next moment they actually did, delicately brushing against the shell. 

"Reiner..."

"We still have time."

Bertholdt was only just fast enough to prevent his ink from spilling when he was pushed back to the bed.


End file.
